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4 O 









ORATION 



ON THE 



LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES 



OF 



DAIIEL WEBSTER 



DELIVERED BEFORE THE BAR OP CINCINNATI, 



vemb er 2 2d, 185 2. 



BY 



1^ 

T. WALKER 



^uHijs^tJj at th aaqutst of ti^c (fTindnnati JSrtr. 




<^CINCINNATI: 

MORGAN & OVEREND, PRINTERS. 
1852. 



PROCEEDINGS OF THE CLNCINNATI BAR, 

On the 25th of October, 1852, 
ON THE ANNOUNCEMENT OP THE DEATH OP DANIEL WEBSTER. 

The Courts met at the usual hour, when, after a few eloquent remarks trom N. C. Read, 
Esq., in Judge Piatt's Court; Bellamy Storer, Esq., in Judge Matthews' Court; Charles 
Fox, Esq., in Judge Fiinn's Court ; and William Johnston, Esq., in Judge Key's Court, on 
the death of Daniel Webster, they adjourned. 

BAR MEETING. 

The death of Daniel Webster having been announced to the Courts of Hamilton county, 
they adjourned for the day. and the members of the Bar met in the court-room of the 
Criminal Court. 

On motion, Bellamy Storer was appointed Chairman, and George H. Pendleton, Secretary. 

On motion of Judge Walker, it was 

Eesolved, That the Chair appoint a committee of six, to report resolutions expressive of the 
sense of the meeting. 

The Chair appointed Messrs. Walker, Johnson, Fox, Morris, Read and Gallagher. 

The committee withdrew a few moments and returned, when Judge Walker read the 
following Preamble and Resolutions, which were on motion unanimously adopted 

The members of the Cincinnati Bar have heard with feelings which words have no power 
to express, that Daniel Webster is dead ! That gigantic intellect, when only in its iiill 
maturity, has closed its grand series of earthly manifestations, and gone where in the con- 
gregated intellect of all the past, it will meet, among the mightiest, none but kindred spirits 
welcoming a companion. But while the Man no longer lives, the Jurist, the Legislator, the 
Publicist, the Statesman and the Orator, will live forever in his immortal works. Who 
among Ancients or Moderns has erected for himself a monument more certain to survive 
all those memorials, which hero-worship rears for its idols, than Daniel Webster ? 

Eesolved, That instead of soiTOwing that such a man has died, our predominant sentiment 
is one of profound gratitude to fleaven for giving to the Bar, to the Country, and to mankind, 
an intellect so vast, and preserving it so long. 

Eesolved, That an oration commemorative of the life and services of Daniel Webster be 
delivered, and that a committee of five persons be appointed by the Chairman to make ar- 
rangements therefor, and to report to an adjourned meeting to be called by the officers. 

The Chair then appointed Messrs. Gholson, Gwynne, Key, Matthews and Carter. 



[iy ] 

Mr. Kox then offered the following resolution, viz: 

Ersolved, That a copy of the proceedings of this meeting be presented to the several 
Courts of this county, with a request that they be enteredon their records. 

(Jn motion of Mr. Morris, it was then 

licsolvtd. That the Chairman of this meeting be requested to address to the widow of the 
deceased a letter of condolence, inclosing the proceedings of this meeting. 

When the meeting adjourned. 

BELLAMY STORER, Chairman. 
Geokge H. 1 endleton, Secretary 



At a subsequent meeting, Mr. Gholson, from the committee above named, made the 
following report, which was adopted : — 

The Committee appointed to report proper arrangements for the delivery of a public 
oration before the Bar of Hamilton county, in honor of the late Daniel Webster, respect- 
fully submit the following : 

That the Hon. Timothy Walker be requested to deliver the oration, at Smith & Nixon's 
Hall, on the evening of the 22d day of November, 1852, at 7K o'clock, to which time and 
place this meeting of the Bar shall be adjourned ; and that the present officers shall continne 
to act. 

That the Clergy of the city be invited to attend ; and that the Chairman be instructed to 
request one of them to open, and another to close the proceedings with prayer. 

That the members of the Bar of Covington, of Newport, and of the surrounding counties 
of the State, be invited to attend, and unite with the members of this Bar in rendering honor 
to the memory of the great and distinguished brother of their profession. 

And that the citizens, generally, be invited to attend. 



CORRESPONDENCE 



Cincinnati, November 25th, 1852. 
Judge WiLKEU .- 

Dear Sir, — 

The undersigned would respectfully ask a copy of your late Oration 

on thi Life and Services of Daniel Webster, for publication. 

While uniting in the universal opinion, of the very able and eloquent manner in which 

you portrayed the character of the departed Jurist, Orator and Statesman, we would express 

our individual desire that you should permit the publication of your Address. It ought 

to be preserved in an enduring Ibrm. 

B. Storer, 
W. Y. Gholson, 
a. e. gwynne, 
Stanly Matthews, 
A. G. W. Carter, 
Thomas M. Key, 

Committee of Arrangements. 



Cincinnati, December 3rf, 1852. 
Gentlemen : 

I have received your very flattering note, requesting a copy of my Oration on 
the Life and Services of Daniel Webster, for publication. 

Believing that all sincere attempts to make so great an example instructive, are, in 
themselves, meritorious, I shall place the manuscript in the hands of the Committee, at 
an early day. 

In the meantime, very grateful for your kind expressions, 

I remain, very respectfully, 

T. Walker. 

To Messrs. B. Storer, W. Y. Gholsox, and others, 

Committee of Arrangements, etc. 



ORATION. 



Brethren of the Bar: 

Daniel Webster, so long our acknowledged chief and 
leader, has been summoned from these earthly courts to the 
presence of the Final Judge; and we are assembled to do 
homage to his memory. 

Over the glittering bier of a monarch styled The Great ; 
amidst the gorgeous pageantry of royal obsequies ; in the pres- 
ence of the most dazzhng court in Christendom ; the speaker 
commenced his funeral oration by saying, God alone is Great. 

We too have a monarch for our theme ; a veritable king of 
men ; immeasurably greater than Louis the Fourteenth, in all 
that constitutes the sovereign man. 

Over his simple bier, covered with no golden pall, but 
garlanded with leaves of oak and autumn flowers, and in the 
presence of a vast throng of weeping friends, the officiating 
clergyman bore this testimony : — 

" I am bound to say, that in the course of my life, I never 
met an individual, in any profession or condition, who always 
spoke and always thought with such awful reverence of the 
power and presence of God." 



[8] 

Let us then begin with the sentiment which he so intensely 
felt, and re-echo the solemn words — God alone is Great. 

Yet while in the most sublime and heart-humbling concep- 
tion of greatness, there can be only one Supreme Type, still, in 
another sense, man, created in His own image, only a little 
lower than the angels, may, and sometimes does, by the best 
use of God's highest gifts, so crown himself with glory and 
honor, and so far transcend the ordinary level of humanity, that 
he can not be truly described without such epithets as Great, 
Gigantic, or Titanic. 

"Wlien such a man dies, all the people mourn, because all 
have lost a friend; those who have never seen his face, nor 
heard his voice, scarcely less than his most familiar associates. 
And what a grand spectacle it is ! — a whole nation surrounding 
the tomb of their benefactor, and " pouring out their hearts like 
water " over his cold ashes. For here, in the dread presence of 
Death, all strife is at an end ; all wrongs forgiven ; all enmities 
forgotten ; all slanders hushed. Mighty Truth at last prevails ; 
awful Justice asserts its sway; great Nature vindicates her 
dignity ; and a righteous judgment is finally rendered here on 
earth. 

Such a man you have appointed me to portray before you ; 
and I, trusting much to the inspiration of the "great argument," 
but without a hope of attaining to its height, have ventured to 
attempt the arduous task ; for it is an arduous and a fearful 
task for any man. I know, from my own consciousness, that in 
every mind here present, there is already formed an image of 
Daniel Webster, vague and indistinct perhaps, and yet, for that 
very reason, such as no one could find language to describe 
even to himself There it is, looming up and stretching forth, 
in its vast though shadowy outlines, until it becomes, as it 
ought to 1)0, a very Colossus. And such a man — so towering 



[9] 

above others, that this true instinct of yours would, in ancient 
times, have exalted him into a demigod — such a man you 
expect me so to delineate, as at least to realize your own ideal. 
Why, Mr. Webster himself, with all his miraculous mastery of 
words and thoughts, could hardly have so described his equal, 
if such there were. And as for me, you might as well 
expect me, with my unpractised hand, to seize the chisel of 
a Powers, and carve for you in marble his majestic person. 
No, no. Words are circumscribed, while the imagin;ition is 
illimitable. 

I may say to you that when the angel of death struck Daniel 
Webster with his inexorable dart, he aimed at the highest mark 
in this our hemisphere ; selecting for his triumph the very first 
among American lawyers, legislators, statesmen, publicists, and 
orators ; — or leaving this hemisphere, and taking the whole 
world for comparison, I may say that his intellect, in massive 
strength and Doric solidity, was inferior to that of no living 
man ; — or leaving the present time, and running the memory 
back, by the lights of history, through all the past, and then 
contemplating that august congregation of the unlbrgotten dead 
in their eternal home — to whose immortal companionship his 
great soul is now admitted — I may, in this one attribute of 
intellectual power, challenge the name of his superior even 
there. All this I may declare, without incurring the charge of 
exaggeration. But all this does not present the man distinctly 
before you. 

Look, then, first at his person, which I have called majestic. 
Never have I stood in a more imposing presence. Of the full 
average height ; above the usual size ; robust and well pro- 
portioned in all parts of his athletic frame ; of a swarthy com- 
plexion ; dark, piercing eyes, deep set beneath long shaggy 
brows ; and a magnificently high, broad, and expansive forehead, 



[ 10] 

he more nearly resembled the description of the royal Dane, 
than any man I ever saw : — 

"See what a grace was seated on this brow ! 
Hyperion's cnrls ; tlic front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
A station like the herald Mercur}^, 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
A combination and a form, indeed, 
Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
To give the world assurance of a man," 

If you add to this a style of dress nearly always the same, and 
admirably adapted to set off his commanding figure — of which 
the chief peculiarities were a blue coat, buff vest, and white 
cravat — you, who have never seen him, can form some faint 
idea of the outward man. In such habiliments, we are told, he 
was robed for the grave. 

But why dwell upon that which human eye shall never more 
behold? This perishable body has returned to its kindred dust. 

" On the 24th of October, all that is mortal of Daniel Webster 
will be no more. Heavenly Father, forgive my sins, and receive 
ray soul unto thyself, through Christ Jesus." 

This was his dying prediction and his prayer. The prediction 
was fulfilled ; and all that of him was mortal, now sleeps its 
last, dreamless sleep, in the bosom of his own beloved Marshfield, 
where the pilgrim to his grave may gaze upon the dark blue 
ocean, which he so loved to contemplate, and listen to its 
loud resounding roar, which to him was always music. 

The prayer too, we may trust, was answered ; and that eman- 
cipated soul, now clothed with a more glorious body, is worship- 
ing with adoring angels before the eternal throne. Can it now 
look down from those bright realms, and take cognizance of the 



[11] 

things of earth ? If so, may not even the bliss of heaven be 
heightened by the knowledge, that from every true and loyal 
heart, there has gone up an utterance of fervent gratitude to 
the Creator for giving us such a man, and sparing him so long ; 
and that those stupendous labors here performed will yield 
their abounding harvest of benefits and blessings forevermore ? 

Who, then, was Daniel Webster ? What was his early his- 
tory ? and what has he done to make his life so great a boon, 
and his death so great a loss ? 

He was born on the 18th of January, 1782, in the town of 
Salisbury, New Hampshire ; and the time, the place, and the 
circumstances of his birth were all auspicious for the formation 
and development of a strong character. 

The bloody drama of the Revolution was just closing. The 
giant actors therein, then in their prime, were already laying, 
broad and deep, the foundations of constitutional liberty. His 
youthful eyes might even watch the progress of the stately 
temple, as, with unresting toil, and superhuman skill, they 
reared it, stone by stone, until they finally crowned it with that 
lofty and all-perfect dome, the Constitution of these United 
States. 

The scenery of the State, though rugged, was grand. Those 
rough, bleak hills, almost rising into mountains ; those huge, 
jagged rocks ; those deep wintry snows, falling in fierce storms, 
remaining nearly half the year, and then melting into cataracts ; 
— among these his infant cradle was rocked, and his childhood's 
gambols played ; and they were well fitted to form that granite 
character which so marked the future man. 

His father was of Scotch extraction; had been a soldier, 
then a farmer, and ultimately, for his strong native sense, 
though not educated to the law, became a Judge. His mother 
was of Welsh extraction, of more than ordinary intellect, and a 



[ 12] 

fine specimen of a New England matron. Here was certainly 
good stock. liiit the most forliinate circumstance was, they 
were so flir from heing rich, that, cheap as schooling then was, 
it required all they could scrape together to give the two 
3'ounoest sons, Daniel and Ezekiel, a college education. There 
was also some salutary hardship to he undergone by the boys 
themselves. Even in winter they had to walk some three 
miles to school ; and when there was no school within walking 
distance, they were boarded out at one dollar per w^eek, in- 
cluding tuition. From these facts it will be readily inferred 
that 3'Oung Webster escaped the misfortune of being petted 
and pampered, as the children of affluence too often are, until 
they become spoiled for everything great or good. He, on the 
contrar}^, was taught to find "a natural and prompt alacrity in 
hardness." To this he was indebted for that sinewy and stal- 
wart fraine, which, for nearly seventy years, scarcely knew what 
fatigue was; and but for which, however bright his intellect, 
the world would not now be ringing with his renoAvn, 

From a letter written in 1846, at the place of his birth, of 
which he had some time before become the owner, I make the 
following extracts, descriptive of his home and family, and 
finely illustrating his strong aftections : — 



(( 



Looking out at the east wdndow, at this moment, with a beauti- 
ful sun just Ijreaking out, my eye sweeps a rich aud level field of 
one hundred acres. At the end of it, a third of a mile off, I see 
plain marble grave-stones, designating the places where repose my 
father, my mother, my brother Joseph, and my sisters, Mehitable, 
Abigail, and Sarali ; good scripture names, inherited from their 

Puritan ancestors 

"My lather, Ebeuezer Webster! born at Kingston, in the lower 
part of the State, in 1736, the handsomest man I ever saw^, except 
my brother Ezekiel, who appeared to me, and so does he now seem 
to me, the very finest human form that ever I laid eyes on. I saw 
him ill his coflSu — a white forehead, a tinged cheek, a complexion 



[ 13] 

as clear as heavenly light. But where am I straying ? The grave 
has dosed upon him, as it lias upon all my brothers and sisters. 
We shall soon be all together. But this is melanelioly, and I leave 
it. Dear, dear kindred blood, how I love you all ! . . . . 

"The fair field is before me. I could see a lamb on any part of 
it. I have plowed it, and raked it, and hoed it, but I never 
mowed it. Somehow I could never learn to hang a scythe. I had 
not wit enough. My brother Joe used to say that my father sent 
me to college in order to make me equal to the rest of the 
children." 

Not to dwell on his sehool-boy days, which were marked by 
hard study and fair promise, he entered Dartmouth College in 
1797, and was graduated in 1801, when not quite twenty. In 
the long vacations he taught school to eke out his slender 
means, and assist in the education of his brother. He also 
edited a small weekly newspaper, and thus exercised himself in 
composition. It was during his college life that the first clear 
dawning was perceived of that transcendent intellect, which was 
soon to blaze forth in such amazing splendor. But it is a 
remarkable fact, that, up to about this time, this bold and con- 
summate orator, by his own account, could never muster cour- 
age to declaim before his school-mates : 

"There was one thing I could not do. I could not make a 
declamation. I could not speak before the school." 

Perhaps his final triumph over this singular diffidence cost 
him a hardly less meritorious effort than that by which the 
great orator of Greece overcame his physical impediment. 

For one year after leaving college he taught a school in 
Maine, at a salary of three hundred and fifty dollars, at the same 
time paying his expenses by writing in the office of the Reg- 
ister of Deeds ; yet still finding leisure to read carefully Black- 
stone's Commentaries. What a year's work ! He used to say 



[ 14] 

that it miule his " fingers ache " to think of those two folios, 
wiitteu lull by him after the toils of the school-room. 

This brings us down to that critical era in every man's life, 
the choice of a profession. He seems never to have hesitated 
about adopting the law. For nearly two years he studied in an 
office in his native town, reading the Latin classics, in the 
meantime, by way of recreation. lie then went to Boston, 
and after some unsuccessful applications, had the good fortune 
to obtain admission into the office of Christopher Gore, an able 
lawyer, a distinguished statesman, and most excellent man. 
Here he completed his novitiate, and in 1805 was admitted to 
the bar of Boston, on Mr. Gore's recommendation ; who, as the 
good old custom then was, made a speech to the court, in 
which he predicted, in strong terms, the future distinction of 
his pupil. 

In the course of his law studies, so far as made known, I find 
but three things especially worthy of remark. He availed 
himself of every opportunity to attend the courts, and made a 
report of all the cases he heard. He translated from the bar- 
barous jargon of Latin and French, all the pleadings in the 
two volumes of Saunders' Reports; and he very wisely threw 
Coke aside, as wholly unfit for a student. It should also be 
added, that severe as his studies were, he did not neglect bodily 
exercise, either then or in after life. He had a great fondness 
for riding, hunting and fishing, which he retained to the last. 
Some of his most celebrated arguments and orations are said to 
have been mainly thought out while enjoying these manly and 
invigorating sports. For example, this story is told in relation 
to his Bunker Hill Discourse. While apparently intent on 
fishing for trout, he was heard to exclaim, as he drew in a very 
large one — 



[ 15 J 

"Venerable men ! yon have come down to us from a former gen- 
eration. Heaven lias bounteously lengthened out your lives, that 
you might behold this joyous day." 

It was my good fortune to hear the maguificent oration in 
which this apostrophe occurs. I hope the anecdote is true. 

Shortly after his admission to the bar, a clerkship became vacant 
in the court of which his father was one of the judges; and from 
regard to the father it was offered to the son. The salary was 
fifteen hundred dollars, very large for those days. To accept it 
would gratify his father, who had set his heart upon it ; and by 
exchanging an uncertainty for a certainty, would enable him at 
once to repay the sacrifices made by his parents for his and his 
brother's education. For these reasons he made up his mind to 
accept the office. But Mr. Gore most strenuously opposed this 
determination; and by painting in vivid colors the brilliant 
career he would thus renounce, finally succeeded in dissuading 
him. When he announced this to his father, he tersely said — 

" I mean to use my tongue in the courts, not my pen ; to be an 
actor, not a register of other men's actions." 

His father, much disappointed, replied — 

" Well, my son, your mother has always said that you would 
come to something or nothing, she was not sure which. I think you 
are now about settling that doubt for her." 

The subject was never mentioned again. It may be, that 
without this friendly remonstrance of Mr. Gore, we should never 
have heard of Daniel Webster. Yet, one can hardly believe 
that the routine of such an office could long have kept down 
the aspirations of so soaring a genius. The hidden fire was 
there. It might have smouldered for a time, but must ulti- 
mately break forth. 



[ 16] 

The question of the clerkship being thus settled, he com- 
menced the practice in Boscawen, in order to be near his 
father, who lived only long enough to hear his first argument ; 
from which, however, he augured a bright destiny. Having 
closed his father's eyes, he gave up his office to his brother, and 
in 1807 removed to Portsmouth, for a wider theater. Here he 
came at once into competition with such men as Jeremiah Mason, 
Samuel Dexter, Joseph Story, and several others, older, but 
not abler lawyers, as was soon demonstrated. So rapid, indeed, 
was his rise, that he scarcely passed through the grade of junior 
counsel. Retainers crowded upon him in nearly all the impor- 
tant cases. But in that State fees were comparatively small, 
and though he had as much business as he could mannge, he 
did not make much more than a livelihood. Nor was his con- 
dition in this respect improved by accepting a seat in Congress, 
which he took for the first time, at the extra session in 1813. 
He was elected for a second term; during which, in 1816, at 
the instance of some of the leading men of Boston, who were 
now familiar with his reputation, he took up his residence in 
that city ; and at once placed himself at the head of that bar ; 
as he soon after did at the head of the whole American bar. 

I should here mention that in 1808 he was married to his 
first wife, Grace Fletcher, by whom he had four children; of 
whom only one, Fletcher Webster, now survives. By his second 
wife, Caroline LeRoy, there is no surviving issue. That most 
accomplished lady still lives ; and long may it be before pro- 
priety would allow more to be said of her. 

We have thus followed Mr. Webster from the school to col- 
lege, from college to the bar, and from the bar to Congress. 
We have seen with what incessant toil he climbed from steep 
to steep in the long ascent. To the young especially, this part 
of his life furnishes a most instructive lesson. Too many are 



[ 17 ] 

fain to believe that what they call genius, may enable them to 
forego labor, and }et reap its highest rewards. There is no 
such thing; and this the life ol Mr. Webster teaches. ]t is 
doubtless true that some men can not become eminent by the 
most strenuous exertions; but it is not less true, that no man 
can become so without them. 

" For sluggard's brow, the laurel never grows ; 
Kenown is not the child of indolent repose." 

This habit of severe labor, thus formed in youth, continued 
through life. I never knew a man who made more laborious prep- 
aration whenever he was to address the bench, the senate, or the 
people, than he did, if the occasion admitted of it. Ilis sense of 
duty to himself and to others, as I have heard him say, would not 
permit him to present crude thoughts in extemporaneous efibrts, 
when there was a possibility of making thorough preparation. 
This is another golden lesson, by which most of us might profit. If 
he took such pains to be worth hearing, what ought not we to do ? 

It is proper here to say, that for most of the facts of this 
very hasty and imperfect sketch of what may be called the 
private life of Mr. Webster, I have been mainly indebted to 
the admirable biographical sketch prefixed to the last edition of 
his works, in six volumes, from the pen of Edward Everett, the 
very accomplished editor, and now one of his literary executors. 
On his worthy shoulders, too, by a most fitting selection, the 
official mantle of the great Secretary has now fallen. Fortunate 
author, to find such an editor! And still more fortunate editor 
to have such an author ! It is as if the works of Demosthenes 
had been edited by Cicero. Each of these volumes has a sepa- 
rate dedication ; and I refer to the subject as an illustration of 
that exquisite beauty and finish, which distinguish every thing 
Mr. Webster wrote. " He touched nothing which he did not 
2 



[18] 

adoru." Take the dedication of the sixth volume as a 
specimen : — 

" With the warmest paternal affection, mingled with deeply 
afflicted feelings, 1 dedicate this, the last volume of my works, to 
the memory of my deceased children ; Julia Webster Appleton, 
beloved in all the relations of daughter, wife, mother, sister, and 
friend ; and Major Edward Webster, who died in Mexico, in the 
military service of the United States, with unblemished honor and 
reputation, and who entered that service solely from a desire to be 
useful to his country, and do honor to the State in which he was 

Go, gentle spirits, to your destined rest : 
While I, reversed our nature's kindlier doom. 
Pour forth a father's sorrow on your tomb." 

Here then, I drop the form of connected narrative; for 
henceforward the history of Mr. Webster is the history of his 
country, and all know it by heart. There is scarcely one great 
constitutional question in the courts, and no great public meas- 
ure in Congress, or important crisis in our foreign relations, with 
which his name is not intimately connected, in consequence of 
the paramount influence he exerted as its advocate or opponent. 
For he earned his laurels scarcely less by what he prevented 
than by what he accomplished. Imagine his name and deeds 
erased from the records of the last thirty years, and how many 
vacant pages would they present ! 

And now, having bid farewell to the comforts of obscurity, 
and become "the observed of all observers," let us pause and 
ask, what are his chances of being a happier man? Will not 
the toils and anxieties of fame attend him ever, day and night, 
until his wearied spirit shall long lor that repose which death 
only can bring? Oh, the nameless and numberless cha- 
grins and vexations of renown! How precious should be its 
gratifications, to make the balance even! When one has 



[19] 

ascended so high that the struggle no longer is to rise, but not 
to fall — when every step is watched and every word scanned — 
when privacy has become impossible, and the individual so 
identified with the public, that he can no longer be his cwn 
man — can this be the supreme good? Byron would answer 
from the depths of a lacerated heart — 

" lie who ascends to mountain tops, shall find 
Their loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow ; 
He who surpasses or sul)dues mankind, 
Must look down on the hate of those below." 

That Mr. Webster was the selected mark for many a poisoned 
arrow, because of his greatness, we all know. That he some- 
times chafed under such annoyances, like a pestered lion, is only 
to say, that he was not marble. But, on the whole, it must be 
admitted that he bore abuse very philosophically, as one who 
had become well used to it. What he most disliked in the 
glaring publicity to which he was condemned, was the necessity 
of being always on his good behaviour, as he sometimes expressed 
it — always great, and stately, and imposing — always on stilts. 
For no man ever loved to unbend himself in fun, and jest, and 
frolic, more than he. To see him only in such rare moments, 
shaking with laughter and full of glee, one might think there 
was no gravity in his nature. And he could make others laugh, 
too. He was the best teller of anecdotes I ever heard, and his 
fund seemed inexhaustible. He was also extremely fond of 
the quiet domestic pleasures of his home and fireside. In a 
word, his nature was all genial, joyous and affectionate. And 
hence the almost childlike eagerness with which he escaped, as 
often as possible, from the public gaze and public cares, to such 
partial retirement as Marshfield could furnish. His rides and 
rambles there, either alone or with some valued friend, looking 



[20] 

at his flocks, and herds, and crops — now quoting poetry, now 
talking philosophy, now cracking jokes — were among the most 
cherished eujo}'ments of his later years. Let one of his most 
intimate friends describe this delightful retreat : — 

" The farm, at Marshfield, is worthy to be the resting place of its 
illustrious owner. It is shielded by a range of beautiful hills, from 
the violence of our north-easterly storms. It has a distant view of 
the ocean, beyond the low^lands, wdiich every high tide overflows. 
On one side a w^ooded promontory juts into the sea, and on the 
other rises a sloping highland, on the brow of which, in the deep 
repose of nature, his kindred rest in their long sleep, w^ith no sounds 
above or around them, but the murmurs of the wind through the 
foliage of the drooping trees, or the song of birds, or the solemn 
voice of the sea, speaking eternally fi-om its vast depths." 

The first appearance of Mr. Webster in the Supreme Court 
of the United States, was in the celebrated Dartmouth College 
case, probably the most important in principle, as yet decided 
by that high tribunal. By a course of argument which has not 
yet been successfully assailed, this case established the doctrine, 
that the charter of a private corporation is a contract, within 
the meaning of that clause in the Constitution, which prohibits 
the States from passing any laws impairing the obligation of 
contracts. It is now well understood that the impressions of 
most, if not all of the judges were against Mr. Webster at the 
commencement of his argument. But as he brought up his 
phalanx of principles and authorities, marshalled by his power- 
ful logic, conviction flashed upon them at every fire. Before 
he concluded, the great cause was gained ; for the decision is 
but a repetition of his train of reasoning. I have heard the 
late Mr. Justice Story, in his delightfully graphic manner, 
describe the gradual effect upon Chief Justice Marshall, by 
whose side he sat. Every now and then he whispered his 



[21] 

impressionsj in terms growing stronger and stronger, until from 
being "a very fine argument," then "a very powerful argu- 
ment," the last whisper was, "the best argument I ever heard." 
Time will not permit me to follow out the career so triumph- 
antly commenced in this court, which so emphatically tries 
men's minds. Suffice it to say, that Pinckney, Wirt, Emmett, 
and the other giants of that bar, at once discerned their most 
formidable future competitor, perhaps even then their master. 
Of this galaxy of mighty men, then and there assembled, judges 
and lawyers, all are gone. Mr. Webster was the last. 

But before leaving this topic, I ought to refer to his speeches 
to the jury in other courts. Very few of these, of course, have 
been preserved. Only two are published in his works. But it 
has been my privilege to hear several of them. Their most 
prominent characteristic was directness, earnest, intense direct- 
ness. He went right at the jury, if I may so express it, and 
kept hammering away, with that sledge-hammer of his, never 
allowing the iron to grow cold, until he had wrought it to the 
shape he wished. He always remembered, what too many of 
us forget, that men who feel the obligation of their oath, dare 
not trifle ; and therefore should not be trifled with. Thus being 
always in earnest with them, they were so with him ; and here 
lies the secret of his overwhelming influence. Probably the 
most remarkable effort of this kind, was in the trial of Knai)p 
for the murder of White, where he was appointed to assist the 
Attorney-General of Massachusetts. Some have blamed him 
for accepting this appointment. But this is mere squeamish- 
ness. For if murder is to be punished, there is as much merit 
in aiding to procure the conviction of the guilty, as the acquit- 
tal of the innocent. There are passages in this speech, of 
almost fearful power. Take, as an example, his description of 
the murder, and of the murderer's torment. If it be not jiaint- 



[ i^2] 

ing tvilh words, I know not what is. Let me relieve your 
patience by reading some extracts. 

"An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, 
and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for 
mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and poets. 
Whoever shall hereafter draw the portrait of murder, if he will 
show it as it has been exhibited in an example, where such example 
was last to have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New 
England society, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, the 
brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled hate, and the 
blood-sliot eye emitting livid fires of malice. Let him draw, rather, 
a decorous, smooth-faced, bloodless demon ; a picture in repose, 
rather than in action; not so much an example of human nature, 
in its depravity, and in its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal 
nature, a fiend, in the ordinary display and developement of his 
character. 

"The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and 
steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. 
The circumstances, now clearly in evidence, spread out the whole 
scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and 
on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to whom sleep was 
sweet, the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft 
but strong embrace. The assassin enters, through the window 
already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless 
foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon ; he winds 
up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. 
Of this, he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it 
turns on its hinges ; and he enters, and beholds his victim before 
him. The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. 
The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and 
the Leams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged 
temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given ! and 
the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose 
of sleep to the repose of death ! It is the assassin's purpose to 
make sure work ; and he yet plies the dagger, though it was 
obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. 
He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the 
heart, and rcj^laces it again over the wounds of the poniard ! To 
finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse ! he feels it, 



[23] 

and ascertains that it beats no longer ! It is accomplished. The 
deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes 
out through it as he came in, and escapes, lie has done the mur- 
der — no eye has seen him, no car has heard him. The secret is 
his own, and it is sate! 

"Ah! gentlemen, that was a drcadiul mistake. Sucli a secret 
can be safe no where. The whole creation of God has neitiier nook 
nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not 
to speak of that Eye which glances through all disguises, and be- 
holds every thing, as in the splendor of noon — such secrets of guilt 
are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally 
speaking, that "murder will out." True it is, that Providence 
hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break 
the great law of heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed 
in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much 
attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or 
later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every 
thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and ])lace; a 
thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds 
intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to 
kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Mean- 
time, the guilty soul can not keep its own secret. It is false to 
itself; or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be 
true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not 
what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the resi- 
dence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a tor- 
ment, which it does not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture 
is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either 
from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses 
soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil spirits of which we 
read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He 
feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding dis- 
closure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in 
his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his 
thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it 
. breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspi- 
cions, from M'ithout, begin to embarrass him, and the net of cir- 
cumstance to entangle him, the fatal seci^et struggles M'ith still 
greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will 'be 
confessed ; there is no refuge from confession but suicide, and 
suicide is confession." 



[24] 

We have seen that Mr. Webster vaulted, as it were, by a 
single leap, to the first rank at the American bar. And the 
same may be said of his congressional career. The thirteenth 
Congress, in which he first made his appearance, contained an 
extraordinary n.;mbcr of very able men; among whom. Clay, 
Calhoun, Lowndes, Pickering, Gaston, and Forsyth, would have 
done honor to any deliberative body in the world. Whatever 
be the reason, the fact is undeniable, that nothing like such 
a constellation of talent has been seen there since. It was in 
the midst of the war, which had the most enthusiastic friends, 
and the most determined opponents. Every debate had refer- 
ence, more or less, to this great question, and became a pitched 
battle before it closed. Mr. Webster, though in the minority, 
was a member of the Committee of Foreign Relations, then, of 
course, the most important committee of all. In this capacity 
he introduced a set of resolutions respecting the repeal of the 
Berlin and Milan decrees, which naturally brought up the 
obnoxious Orders in Council. His maiden speech was upon 
these resolutions, and covered the wide field of international 
law. No full report has been preserved. But by the testi- 
mony of friends and adversaries, it was a masterly effort. It 
took the house entirely by surprise. There was a copiousness 
of historical and political knowledge, a grace and felicity of 
diction, and a force and dignity of delivery, for which no one 
was prepared. His whole bearing is described as that of an old 
and disci[»liued debater, entirely at home on that arena. From 
that moment his reputation was established ; and he took his 
place, in public estimation, on a level with Clay and Calhoun, 
already the acknowledged champions of the House. 

Here, therefore, in 1S13, commenced that emulous and life- 
long rivalry, which has associated these three illustrious names 
in a com[)anionship as immortal as that of Pitt, Fox, and 



[25] 

Burke — that glorious triumvirate, of whom every Briton is so 
justly proud — but not more glorious than ours. 

"With more than mortal powers endowed, 
How high they soared above the crowd ! 
Theirs was no common party race, 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place; 
Like fabled gods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar," 

But the grave has closed upon them all. One by one, in the 
course of a little more than two revolving suns, these stars of 
the first magnitude have left our firmament, to be seen there no 
more forever. Which of them shone brightest there, I have 
now no heart to inquire. Enough here to say, that each was 
great — compared with any other compatriot, transcendently 
great. Centuries may pass before three such men shall meet 
again in the halls of Congress, or in the councils of state. 
When they stood shoulder to shoulder in debate, nothing could 
resist them. When they opposed each other, who could pro- 
nounce where victory perched ? 

Yet notwithstanding all these high qualities and priceless 
services, neither of these Three could reach the Presidency. Mr. 
Webster was never even comphmented with a convention nom- 
ination. In the first place, he was utterly destitute of nega- 
tive qualifications, such as make a candidate unassailable ; upon 
the self-evident proposition, that he who has done nothing, has 
done no harm. And in the next place, he had never drawn a 
sword upon the battle-field, and so was without that positive 
qualification, which is thought to make a candidate available. 
True, he had done as much as any man, living or dead, to prove 

that — 

" Beneath the rule of men entirely great, 
The PEN is mightier than the sword." 



[26] 

But this availed him nothing in a competition with military 
glory. I do not intend to disparage military services, or the 
renown which follows them. For if we must have war, we must 
have commanders ; and if they so control this direst of all evils, 
as to bring good out of it, with the least possible harm, they 
deserve our gratitude; and may glorious laurels crown them! — 
not for the havoc they commit, but for the miseries they 
prevent. Yet why a great general should make a better Presi- 
dent than a great civihan, or more deserves the office, is what 
I have never been able fully to comprehend. Should it be said 
that I have at any time voted for a military candidate, my 
answer is, that it was a choice of evils. I could not help 
myself, under the present system. I had no vote in the nomi- 
nations, and could not make out my own electoral ticket. 1 
must take the nominations got up for me by others, or not vote 
at all. But if, as I trust at no distant day will happen, each 
citizen shall be allowed to vote directly for the candidate he 
prefers, then I, and such as I, will be without excuse if we do 
not perfectly express our preferences by our votes. 

It has been argued by many as strange, that a man who so 
habituall}' estimated things at their true value, should have 
cherished so strong a desire for this office ; and those w-ho 
admired him most, and loved him best, may perhaps regret that 
he evinced this "last infirmity of noble minds." For while 
he would unquestionably have conferred honor upon the office, 
it is dillicult to conceive how he could have derived any 
addition from it. But he looked to it as a substantial token 
of his country's approbation of his services, which is always 
most grateful to a public servant. Besides, his idea of the 
office was formed upon the example of Washington, whose 
memory he revered more than any earthly thing ; and with 
this sublime picture exclusively before him, no wonder he 



[27] 

burned to fill the same chair. Had he scanned the whule line 
of succession, with that profound })hilosophy which he was wont 
to bring to all subjects concerning his country, rather than him- 
self, it might perhaps have occurred lu hiui, that the absence of 
one statue from a certain Roman procession was more notable 
than its presence would have been. I may not say, of the Chief 
Magistracy of this great Republic, that he must have stooped 
to take it ; but I have no hesitation in asserting that it could 
not have extended the boundaries of his fame, either in space 
or time. For who now asks what office Demosthenes or Cicero, 
Bacon or Newton, Milton or Shakspeare may have chanced to 
fill? And when centuries shall have rolled away, and the 
works of Webster still be read and reverenced as consummate 
models — of such rare excellence, indeed, as utterances not for 
this age only, but for all time, that the loss of any one of them 
would be felt as the loss of a pleiad from the starry lights of 
mind — who, of a grateful and admiring posterity, will ever ask 
or care whether he had been President or not? No; for Mr. 
Webster himself, I can hardly regret that his aspirations were 
disappointed. But for his country's sake, it is sad to think of 
this constantly accumulating evidence that republics may be 
ungrateful. As far back as the second term of Mr. Monroe, 
John Randolph predicted that no great man would again be 
President ; and Mr. Calhoun is reported to have expressed the 
same idea, when speaking of Mr. Webster's speech, in 1850, on 
the Fugitive Slave Bill — 

" I see no reason why he should not be the next President." 

Then, as if soliloquizing, he added — 

" But he is too great a man ever to be made President." 

A short time previous, and before the course of Mr. Webster 



[28] 

on this exciting subject was known, upon being asked what 
course he would probably take, he is said to have answered — 

" He will do all that a statesman and patriot can do. My hopes 
rest upon Mr. Webster. He alone can save this Union. I have 
known him for more than thirty years, and he has always acted 
from a conscientious regard to the welfare of the whole Union." 

Laudatus a viro laudato ! This is praise indeed — praise 
from a man himself praised — one who had met him in many a 
stern encounter, and knew him thoroughly. 

To Mr. Calhoun, when his death was announced in the Sen- 
ate, Mr. Webster gave a most affecting tribute, in the course of 
which he said — 

"He had the basis, the indispensable basis of all high character ; 
and that was unspotted integrity, and unimpeached honor. If he 
had aspirations, they were high, and honorable, and noble. There 
was nothing grovelling, or low, or meanly selfish, that came near 
the head or the heart of Mr. Calhoun. ... He has lived long 
enough, he has done enough, and he has done it so well, so suc- 
cessfully, so honorably, as to connect himself for all time with the 
records of his country. He is now an historical character." 

Yes, both have now passed to the jurisdiction of History, to 
whose impartial verdict we surrender them. 

" Here let their discord with them die ! 
Nor seek for those a separate doom, 
Whom fate made brothers in the tomb ; 
But search the land of livino- men. 
Where wilt thou find their like asen ? " 



to^ 



The scholarship of Mr. Webster, properly viewed, should 
have great prominence in any fair estimate of him. It was, of 
course, very far from being as universal as that of men who can 
devote their whole time to literary pursuits. But among our 



[29] 

eminent statesmen, if there has been one superior in scholar- 
ship, it was John Quincy Adams ; and his spare time from the 
toils of state, was not, like Mr. Webster's, under a previous 
mortgage to the most exacting of all professions. This, how- 
ever, may be saiely said, that he was a thorough scholar, as far 
as his studies extended ; and that he displayed rare vs^isdom in 
not undertaking too much, and in selecting so well. For so far 
as scholarship lights up his speeches, it seems to come spon- 
taneously, and is of the most refined and polished kind. 
Nothing can be found more apposite than his quotations from 
the best of the English and Latin classics. One might almost 
think they were written for the occasion. 

I come now to speak of the eloquence of Mr. Webster, that 
potent lever, by which he so moved the world; and yet I 
hardly know how to begin. His power as an orator must 
have been felt, in order to be appreciated. I have heard 
him at the bar, in the senate, and on various popular and 
festival occasions ; and such was his astonishing versatility, 
that he seemed to me equally great in each, and without 
a superior in either. 1 have also read with care some of the 
master-pieces of the most renowned orators of ancient and mod- 
ern times ; and notwithstanding my profound admiration of 
those immortal productions, I can not place those of Mr. Web- 
ster below them. Ho had a treasure-house of knowledge, accu- 
mulated by laborious study, always at command. The finest 
passages in the ancient and modern classics, as we have seen, 
came at his call, as well for ornament as illustration. His dic- 
tion was as pure and chaste as it was flowing and sonorous. I 
know no greater master of the English language. His taste 
was fastidiously, even severely correct. You can not find an 
awkward or inelegant expression in any of his works. His 
imagination might have made him one of the first of poets. 



[30] 

He was not profuse in metaphors or other figures of speech, but 

when he did use them, they were exquisitely conceived. His 

clearness of thought and expression was transparency itself I 

do not remember to have met with an obscure passage in any of 

my reading. He looked straight through the subject in hand, 

and made his hearers do the same. His logic was so close and 

cogent, that it approached the conclusiveness of mathematical 

demonstration. If you would assail him any where, it must be 

in his premises ; grant these and you gave up the argument. He 

very seldom resorted to sarcasm or invective, but when he did, 

it was withering. To low personal abuse he could not stoop. 

He always respected himself, whatever he might think of his 

opponent; and there was too much vigor in his bow to require 

any venom in the shaft. For this reason, and because of the 

entire absence of every thing like slang or vulgar wit, he was 

not a very popular stump orator. His aim was to raise his 

hearers up to his level, not to get down to theirs. Hence you 

are struck with the sustained dignity and lofty courtesy which 

pervade all his speeches. I do not beheve he ever said an 

ungentlemauly thing. The most intense passion never got the 

better of his decorum. His heart was as large as his mind; 

and his regard for the feelings of those who never spared his, 

evinced the noblest forbearance, or rather say magnanimity. 

This trait is strikingly manifested in the single, and I may add, 

superfluous injunction laid upon Mr. Everett as his editor — 

" My friend, I wash to perpetuate no feuds. I have lived a life 
of strenuous political warfare. I have sometimes, though rarely, 
and that in self-defence, been led to speak of others with severity. 
I beg of you, when you can do it without wholly changing the char- 
acter of the B})eech, and thus doing essential injustice to me, to 
obliterate every trace of personality of this kind. I should prefer 
not to leave a word that would give unnecessary pain to any honest 
man, however opposed to me." 



[31] 

His delivery was admirably adapted to his matter. He was 
always animated, but never vociferous. The clear, deep tones 
of his voice resembled those of an organ, swelling forth until 
the whole space was tilled. In his most impassioned moments 
he did not scream, or rant, or gesticulate violently. I remem- 
ber no distinguished orator, whose habit was more subdued in 
this respect. As he became heated by his subject, you saw it 
rather in the lightning flashing from his eyes, in the perfect 
illumination beaming over his face, and in the increased rapidity 
of his utterance, than in any loudness of tone, or vehemence of 
action. Were I to select a single word to describe his whole 
manner, it would be impressiveness. Never have I seen an 
audience so enchained, wrapt, entranced, as when listenino- to 
him. They felt that a great, earnest man was pouring out his 
large crystal thoughts in such full and copious streams, that 
they could not tire of drinking them in. To lose a sentence 
would be to lose a pearl from a cluster. We are told, that 
Burke, with all his intensity of thought, and gorgeousness of 
language — in the latter never surpassed — could not keep an 
audience patient. His rising to speak was a signal for clearing 
the benches. But who ever heard of empty benches when 
Webster was speaking ? If any left the house, it was because 
the crowd was unendurable. He could not make a dry law 
argument, if announced, without a thronged assembly. But I 
labor in vain to give you an adequate description. The best I 
can imagine, is that which he has himself given of the eloquence 
of John Adams, where he unconsciously describes his own: — 

" The eloquence of Mr. Adams resembled his general character, 
and formed, indeed, a part of it. It was bold, manly, and ener- 
getic ; and such the crisis required. When public bodies are to be 
addressed on momentous occasions ; when great interests are at 
stake, and strong passions excited ; nothing is valuable in speech 



[32] 

further tlian it is connected with high intellectual and moral endow- 
ments. Clearness, force and earnestness are the qualities which 
produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in 
speech. It can not be brought from far. Labor and learning may 
toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be 
marshalled in every way, but they can not compass it. It must 
exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected pas- 
sion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire 
to it ; they can not reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the 
outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of 
volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces 
taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances 
of speech, shock, and disgust men, when their own lives, and the 
fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the 
decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric 
is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself 
then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qual- 
ities. Then patriotism is eloquent ; then self-devotion is eloquent. 
The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high 
purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the 
tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging 
the whole man onward, right onward to his object — this, this is elo- 
quence ; or rather it is something greater and higher than all elo- 
quence; it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action." 

No doubt you all remember how magnificently he exempli- 
fied this description by inventing a speech for John Adams, in 
support of the Declaration of Independence, beginning, "sink 
or swim, live or die," which is unsurpassed by any thing in our 
language. Many well-informed readers, at home and abroad, 
have supposed it to be the identical speech made on that august 
occasion. Probably no orator ever attempted a more adventur- 
ous flight, or achieved it more successfully. 

Considering the diversity of tastes, and the vast field for 
choice, it might seem presumptuous to select any single passage 
and pronounce it to be his best. But for one I know of nothing 
more grand or beautiful, in the whole range of eloquence, than 
the last paragraph of his Plymouth Discourse — 



[ 33 j 

" Advance, then, ye future generations ! We would liail you, as 
you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now 
fill, and to taste the blessings of existence, where we are passing, 
and soon shall have passed, our own human duration. "We hid you 
welcome to this pleasant land of the fathers. Wo Lid you welcome 
to the healthful skies and verdant holds of Kow England. We 
greet your accession to the great inheritance which we have enjoyed. 
We welcome you to the blessings of good government and religious 
liberty. We welcome you to the treasures of science and the de- 
lights of learning. We welcome you to the transcendent sweets of 
domestic life, to the happiness of kindred, and parents, and chil- 
dren. We welcome you to the immeasurable blessings of rational 
existence, the immortal hopes of Christianity, and the light of ever- 
lasting truth." 

But while Mr. Webster thus gloried in New England, his 
sympathies were not confined within those narrow limits. His 
patriotism knew no boundaries but those of the whole United 
States. Since Washington, there has been no American more 
broadly and entirely national, in all his views and feelings. 
This sentiment of nationality pervades all his speeches, and 
shines out through all his acts. Search his whole public life, 
and you can not find that he ever advocated or opposed a single 
measure on sectional grounds. From first to last, he regarded 
the preservation of the Union, in its original integrity, as the 
paramount object of his life; and he omitted no occasion to 
impress this sentiment upon his contemporaries. It was this 
great idea that inspired many of his loftiest bursts of eloquence. 
And if our glorious Union, as he so fondly hoped, and so earn- 
estly prayed, shall be perpetual, to his efforts, next after those 
of Washington, shall we, and after ages be indebted for the un- 
speakable boon. When by those wonderful speeches in reply to 
Mr. Hayne, and that other, scarcely less wonderful speech in reply 
to Mr. Calhoun, in which he vindicated the Proclamation of 
General Jackson — when by these mighty eHbrts, which must 



[ 34 ] 

ever be regarded, both in their power and their results, as the 
most memorable of his whole life — he had put down that stu- 
pendous heresy of Nullification — when he had thus, by his 
single arm, destroyed that hydra, which could defy all but a 
Hercules — a grateful people, thus rescued from so frightful a 
peril, with one voice hailed him as Defender of the Constitu- 
tion. I think it would scarcely have been exaggeration if they 
had greeted him as the second Saviour of his Country. For 
assuredly never since that Chaos which immediately preceded 
the formation of the Constitution, has the union of these states 
been so formidably threatened. The old Confederation has been 
well characterized as " a rope of sand." Nullification would 
have made the new one equally so. But Mr. Webster was the 
man for the hour ; and in his second speech in reply to Mr. 
Hayne, has given to the Constitution a construction at once so 
luminous and so incontrovertible, that no sophistry can ever 
prevail against it. If disunion come upon us, or upon our chil- 
dren, it will not be through the door of nullification. At any 
rate the past is secure ; and his prayer, in that most thrilling 
of all perorations, has been answered. 

"While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying pros- 
pects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I 
seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, 
that curtain may not rise ! God grant that on my vision never may 
be opened what lies behind ! When my eyes shall be turned to 
behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him 
shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious 
Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land 
rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it maybe, in fi-aternal blood! 
Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous 
ensio-n of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the 
earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in 
their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star 
obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory 



[35] 

as, 'What is all this worth?' nor those other words of delusion 
and folly, 'Liberty first, and Union afterwards;' hut every where, 
spread all over in characters of living light, hlazing on ail its 
ample folds, as they float over the se.., and over the land, and in 

every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to 

every true American heart—' Liberty and Union, now and forever, 

one and inseparable.' " 

I have already alluded incidentally to the abuse heaped 
upon Mr. Webster. I think it was his great compeer, Mr. 
Clay, who once claimed to be " the best abused man " in the 
United States. But Mr. Webster might well dispute the palm 
with him; for I do not remember that Mr. Clay ever suflered 
the fate of Actseon; while Mr. Webster, on more than one 
occasion, had this rare fortune. The truth is, that in this free 
country of ours party organization has been brought to such 
a state, that the individual is nearly, if not entirely, absorbed 
into the mass. He must believe with his party, speak for his 
party, act with his party, or he is nobody. Else why hold con- 
ventions, make platforms, and issue edicts? What right has 
any one man, however wise — seeing that his vote only counts 
one — to undertake to lead pubHc opinion? His duty, as a 
partisan, is to follow it implicity, as manufactured for him ; and 
if he will not do this, he must be read out of the party. To 
this perfection of discipline we had arrived, when the memorable 
explosion took place in Mr. Tyler's Cabinet, in which Mr. Web- 
ster was Premier. When all the other members indignantly 
resigned, he was contumacious, and would not instantly resign. 
He had some great international concerns in his especial charge; 
some diplomatic negotiations, of infinite moment to the country, 
half completed ; and he thought that a higher allegiance than 
he owed to party, made it imperative that he should remain and 
finish the great work in hand — as he did most triumphantly, 
most gloriously. But his conduct was regarded as treason against 



[36] 

the party, and he must be read out. At the word, the hounds 
were in full bark upon his track, while he quietly completed 
his official work, and then resigned. When the turmoil was some- 
what over, and he asked, " Where am I to go ?" the party said, 
" Come back to our bosom. We forgive you this once for doing 
your duty in spite of us. But take care not to do so again." 
So he was read back into the part}'. But when General Taylor 
was nominated, he came very near being read out again ; not 
for opposing the nomination when made, but for hazarding the 
opinion " that it was not fit to be made." This he had no 
right to say, and he was soundly scolded for saying it. But he 
was a man of some importance, and the party was merciful, and 
he was again forgiven. He was even taken into especial favor, 
and made Premier in Mr. Fillmore's Cabinet. Here again he so 
conducted our foreign relations, in most critical emergencies, as 
to be pronounced, by general consent, the most able diplomatist 
of his day — his state papers, like his speeches, being consum- 
mate models. Every American becomes more proud of him 
than ever. All tongues praise him, except, perhaps, the Chev- 
alier Hulseman. But again he offends the party. The Conven- 
tion prefer General Scott to either Mr. Fillmore or himself He 
very naturally, to say the least, is of a different opinion. This 
time, however, he does not say the nomination was not fit to be 
made; but he says nothing. He is obstinately silent. He 
will not come out for Scott. He will not even forbid his ardent 
friends to make a ticket for himself In defiance of the news- 
papers, he persists in his silence. Now, therefore, he must be 
read out forever. And again the hounds are on his track. The 
very harshest epithets begin to be used. But it is too late, too 
late ! For at the very moment when the canvass is waxing 
hottest, and political asperities are becoming fiercest, the mourn- 
i'ul tidings flash in lightning over the land, that Mr. Webster is 



[ ^n 

flying — that he is dead ! And now from his tomb there comes 
a voice, which says to these raging billows, " Peace, he still !" 
That voice is heard, and as to him there is "a great calm." 
Then burst forth eulogies from all lips. The only strife i<, who 
shall praise him most. The very pens which had been dipped 
in gall indite eloquent panegyrics. Now, for the first time, the 
full nobleness of the man is seen and acknowledged. What 
was before obstinate self-will, or unhallowed ambition, becomes 
moral heroism. Why should such a man be kept in leading 
strings ? Who should presume to tell Daniel Webster what he 
ought to do ? Did he not know his duty, and dare to do it, on 
more trying occasions ? Besides, what obligations did he owe 
to the party, which had not been jiaid a thousand times over ? 
But his party was his country, which he had served faithfully to 
the end — even to the verge of political niart}'rdom. Never 
was a man more truly, more intensely, more bravely American. 
Such will be, such is already the verdict of history. And never 
was this more gloriously manifested than when he threw off the 
shackles of party, and breasted its worst indignation. 

Thanks for this timely lesson. May such instances be mul- 
tiplied until they cease to astonish us. Let not the foundations 
of all true manhood be sapped by a slavish submission to party 
dictation. Let us be freemen, our own men. We boast of our 
national independence, let us declare and maintain our personal 
independence. Thanks again. Immortal Shade ! for thy great 
example. May it strengthen many a heart to stem the torrent 
of a downward age ! 

But it has been said that Mr. Webster was not a consistent 
politician. For one, I never thought him a politician at all, as 
that word is commonly used. I believe it is not an axiom in 
politics, that a straight line is the shortest distance between two 
points. But with him this was as much an axiom in conduct, 



[ 38] 

as it is in geometry. As to the charge of inconsistency, it 
refers mainly to two subjects, Slavery and the Tariff. 

With respect to Slavery, it is said that the sentiments ex- 
pressed in his great Plymouth oration, in 1820, and on several 
other occasions, are in direct opposition to those of his speech 
on the Fugitive Slave Bill, in 1850. If we grant this to be true, 
it is not necessarily a blemish in his character. I would rather 
applaud the courage of a public man for daring to change his 
mind on good reasons, than censure him as inconsistent. The 
true question is, whether he is sincere? Whether time and 
reflection have wrought a real change in his convictions ? If so, 
he can only be consistent with himself, by declaring that change. 
And it would be strange, indeed, if, in the course of a long life, 
the opinions of the soundest thinkers did not sometimes change. 
When this happens, it is glaring hypocrisy, it is downright dis- 
honesty, it is arrant cowardice, to conceal such change. But in 
the case referred to, there is no proof that Mr. Webster did 
change his opinions. At Plymouth, in that passage of terrible 
grandeur, which you must all remember, he was denouncing the 
African slave-trade, and not the surrender of fugitive slaves. 
These are some of his denunciations : — 

" Id the eye of our law, the African slave-trader is a pirate and a 
felon ; and in the sight of heaven, an offender far beyond the ordi- 
nary depths of human guilt. I hear the sound of the hammer, I 
see the smoke of the furnaces, where manacles and fetters are still 
forged for human limbs. I see the visages of those, w^ho, by stealth 
and at midniglit, labor in this work of hell, foul and dark, as may 
become the artificers of such instruments of miseiy and torture. 
Let that spot be purified, or let it cease to be of New England." 

Now there never was an hour in his life, in which he 
regarded this traffic as less odious and abominable than he has 
here painted it. I may go farther, and say that there never 



[ 39 ] 

was an hour when he did not regard slavery itself as an evil and 
a curse, and pray for its ultimate extinction from the face of the 
earth. But this he has done. He has maintained, that while 
the Constitution stands, as it is, the question of slavery is a 
local one for each State, with which the national 2;overnment 
can not interfere ; except so far as to redeem the pledge therein 
written, that fugitive slaves, when duly claimed, must be de- 
livered up. This Constitution he had taken an oath to sup- 
port, and therefore he spoke and voted for the Fugitive Slave 
Bill. In this he may have been right, or he may have been 
wrong. I shall not here discuss the question, whether there be 
not a higher law, which absolved him from this oath. The point 
is, did he conscientiously believe otherwise ? If so, it was his 
duty to act otherwise, even at the expense of losing the best 
friends that statesman ever had — a sacrifice which stared him 
in the face, when he made the speech. 

As to the Tariff, it is undeniable that in 1824 Mr. Webster 
was a zealous champion of free trade, and that he made, upon 
that side of the question, one of his ablest speeches. It is also 
true, that he afterwards, when the condition of the countrv 
had greatly changed, became an advocate for the protection of 
home industry, by discriminating duties. But even here, his 
want of consistency is more apparent than real. If I under- 
stand him, he has never ceased to be an advocate for free trade, 
as an abstract theory. Let all the world establish free trade, 
and he believed it would be a blessed era, heralding the reign 
of universal brotherhood and peace. But so long as other na- 
tions impose restrictions, injurious to us, we are compelled, in 
self-defense, to impose them also. Besides we must look, for 
our national revenue, to duties on imports, or else resort to the 
odious alternative of direct taxes. Then why not so arrange 
those duties, as to enable American labor, at living prices, to 



[40] 

encounter the competition of foreign labor, at starving prices ; 
at least with reference to those branches of industry and pi-o- 
duction, which are essential to our complete national independ- 
ence ? If, on the whole, the greatest happiness of the greatest 
number of our own citizens will be promoted by such a tariff, 
then, as wise legislators, acting for our country only, and not for 
the whole human race, we are bound to establish it — the ab- 
stract theory of free trade to the contrary notwithstanding. So 
Mr. \\ ebster argued, and so he voted ; and if there be inconsis- 
tency in this, it was his duty, so believing, to be inconsistent. 

But I hate this bugbear of a word, which is only fit to frighten 
timid and time-serving politicians. I say, all honor to the 
statesman, who, that he may be true and loyal to his own con- 
victions, looks down with scorn upon the accusation of inconsis- 
tency. All praise to the indomitable Luthers, who dare to come 
out from what they believe to be error, and say as the great 
Reformer said belbre the Diet ■ — " God help me, I can no 
other." 

But I must bring this feeble portraiture to a close; and I 
have reserved the highest trait for the last. The closing words 
of the address at his grave were these — 

"Mr. Webster's religious sentiments and feelings were the crown- 
ing glories of his character." 

And this is true. Whatever may be said of early aberra- 
tions, of which I know not the truth, he was a deeply religious 
man. There was no austerity, no cant, about him; but he was 
full of reverence. No man, out of the clergy, was more familiar 
with the Scriptures, or more frequently made them the subject 
of ([notation and conversation. Still his rehgion was more of 
the heart than of the head. He saw^ and felt God in all his 
beautiful and glorious works. And not only did no one ever 



[41 ] 

hear an irreverent expression from his lips, but very frequently 
his feelings of adoration would gush foith in words. Thus, 
when walking over his lawn, on a summer evening, and gazing 
at the starry heavens, until his heart became too full for silence, 
he has been heard to utter, with the most impressive intonation, 
some such passage as this : — 

" "When I consider thy heavens, the workof tliy lingers, the moon 
and the stars which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art 
mindful of him ? and the son of man, that thou visitest^him ? For 
thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned 
him with glory and honor ! " 

I have read also this profound criticism, said to have been 
made by him, upon a preacher, to whom he had just been listen- 
ing, upon the evidences of Christianity : — 

"He came so near the truth, that I was astonished that he missed 
it. In summing up his arguments, he said the only alternative was 
this : either Christianity is true, or it is a delusion produced by an 
excited imagination. Such is not the alternative, but it is this: the 
Gospel is either true history, or it is a consummate fraud ; it is 
either a reality, or an imposition. Christ was what he professed to 
be, or he was an impostor. There is no other alternative. His 
spotless life, his earnest enforcement of the truth, his sufieriug in 
its defense, forbid us to suppose that he was suffering an illusion of 
a heated brain." 

Again, speaking of the proper style of preaching, he is re- 
ported to have said — 

" Many of the preachers of the present day take their text from 
St. Paul and preach from the newspapers. When they do so I pre- 
fer to enjoy my own thoughts, rather than to listen. I want my 
pastor to come to me in the spirit of the Gospel, saying, You are 
mortal! your probation is brief; your work must be done speedily: 
you are immortal too ; you are hastening to the bar of God ; the 



[42 ] 

Judj^e standeth before the door. When I am thus admonished, I 
have no disposition to muse or sleep. These topics have often oc- 
cupied my thoughts ; and if I had time, I would write upon them 
myself." 

But the best evidence is to be found in the closing scene. 
Here, at the very gates of eternity, man appears as he is. And 
what could poet have dreamed more befitting such a man, than 
such a death ? Oh, the beauty of holiness ! This expression 
has to me a more intense meaning, since I read the account of 
Mr. Webster's last hours. Let us imagine ourselves at the 
bedside of the dying statesman. His last official dispatch, after 
two efforts, has been signed with an untrembling hand. His 
testamentary dispositions have all been thoughtfully made. His 
burial place has been recently prepared, under his own watchful 
eye, and can be seen from the bed where he now lies. A plain 
marble monument, near those of his kindred, is waiting for his 
name. He has taken a last look at his farm and his cattle, 
and a last leave of his domestics, and his neighbors. He has 
seen the sun set for the last time. One by one, he has called 
his family and friends to his bedside, spoken to each some 
blessed words of faith and hope, and taken of all a cheerful, 
though inexpressibly tender and affectionate farewell. And 
now, his work on earth being finished, he resigns himself to die. 
We have heard his prediction and his prayer. The 23d of 
October is waning towards its close, and the Pale Messenger 
must be near. Calmly he numbers the minutes which remain ; 
for he has a mysterious presentiment that he shall survive the 
midnight hour. The physician has informed him that medicine 
can do no more. 

" My part then is to wait patiently for the end, and may it come 



soon." 



[43] 

Doubt not, brave heart ! thy last wish shall be gratified. 

The Pale Messenger is in sight. Strength fails rajtidly. A 

restorative is asked for, and the sufferer revives a little. An 

early love returns ; and he falters out the words — repeating 

each — 

"Poetry, poetiy — Gray, Gray." 

He is thinking of that beautiful Elegy written in a Countr}' 
Churchyard. His son, now sole heritor of his name, divines his 
wish, and repeats the first line — 

—"That 'sit — that 'sit." 

The book is brought and a few stanzas read, which please 
and soothe him. No wonder; for how solemn, and yet how 
tranquilizing they are : — 

" The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

" Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
Or drowsy tinkllngs lull the distant folds." 

And then where the poet speaks of the end of all human 
glory ! how appropriate to the time, and the man : — 

" The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Await alike the inevitable hour; 

The paths of gloiy lead but to the grave. 

" Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ?" 



[44] 

But the pangs of mortal agony recall the sufferer from images 
like these, to the stern reality of the death-grapple, of which he 
tries to speak. The good physician calms him with these pre- 
cious words — 

" Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I 
will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they 
comfort me." 

And they did comfort him, just entering that valley. 

— "The fact, the fact. That's what I wanted. Thy rod, thy 
rod — thy staff, thy staff! " 

The midnight hour arrives; the presentiment is realized. 
Still conscious, he feebly articulates the words — 



a 



I — STILL — LIVE." 



They are the last words of Daniel Webster. One — two — 
strike on his languid ear. Forty minutes more, and all is over. 
Without a struggle to mark the separation, that divine soul, 
believing and trusting, passes from its cold tenement. Serene 
and beautiful close of a stormy, yet glorious life ! 

What a contrast, for example, to the death of Mirabeau ! 
The one, all meekness and resignation ; the other, all arrogance 
and scorn ! 

" I carry in my heart the death-dirge of the French monarchy." 
" What, [as he hears cannon,] have we the funeral of Achilles 
already ? " 

" Ay, [as a friend raised his head,] support that head. Would I 
could bequeath it to thee." 

When speech has failed the expiring Titan, he beckons for 
opium. Not understood, he passionately seizes a pen and writes 



[45] 

the words — " to sleep." They are his last words ; and thus the 
haughty Atheist — his feet stumbhug on the dark mountains to 
the last — passes away to that sleep, which he has tried to 
believe eternal. Tremendous problem ! How soon for him to 
be resolved ! 

Not so the humble, yet exulting Behever. I still live ; my 
soul in heaven, my memory on earth. The Pale Messenger is 
welcome. The dark valley is passed. The future has become 
an eternal present. So lived and so died Daniel Webster. 

" He set, as sets the morning star, which goes 
Not down behind the darkened w^est, nor hides 
Obscured, among the tempests of the sky, 
But melts away into the light of heaven." 



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